Chapter 9
Michael Hunt was as horrified as he had ever been.
Only inches away from him lay the body of Bubba Anson. His eyes wide open with a large hole centered just above his eyes. His prone body still lay on the steps and was what tripped him.
He was still screaming, but finally stopped. It wasn’t because of the pain shooting up Michael’s arm or from whatever injury had happened to his face.
It was from seeing this man’s body before him, the person Michael had come to the lake to see and try to help. Michael used his good hand to scoot farther away. There was a big rock formation to his right and he moved up against it.
The realization suddenly hit him that he might be in danger, also. Michael didn’t know much about guns, unlike ninety percent of the county’s population, but could tell from the size of the wound and the accuracy that whoever did this had a big gun and knew how to use it. He grabbed for the cell phone attached to his belt. Michael opened it with his good hand and tried to make a call. Nothing was happening. He started worrying that the phone had been damaged in the fall, before noticing there were no bars.
No signal. Michael sighed and wondered what to do. The pain was getting worse, now joined by something on his left knee. He tried to stand and figured out that was a no go. His left leg would not offer the needed support so Michael sat back down against the sloped rock.
This wasn’t a popular time to camp and he saw no lamps lit or fires burning at the camp sites on this side of the lake or the other. He thought for a second that he saw lights across the lake, but if there were any, they quickly disappeared.
There was no way to make it back up the steps. He regretted not telling anybody where he was going, not a smart move. There probably wasn’t anybody around for several miles, back to the few houses on the side of the road heading into the lake.
“Help!” he hollered, quickly deciding that was a waste of time and energy. Michael looked back at the corpse and wished the eyes would stop staring at him. Lifeless eyes that showed no horror or anything. Michael touched his left knee and was not surprised to find out it was already swelling, easily twice the size of the other knee. He had hurt this knee years ago playing softball in a recreational league in Tulsa. He tripped rounding second base and wound up with torn ligaments and a face full of dirt. The second baseman laughed while applying the tag to end the inning. Michael saw nothing humorous about that, or this. He knew this was bad and getting worse.
--------
One of the agents from the OSBI was looking through the debris left over from the fire at what used to be the Langford Review. Most everything was destroyed, from the desks, the computers, printer, chairs and everything.
This was not a plum assignment as far as Mel Hudlow was concerned. His instructions were to find anything that looked like it might either come from a bomb or ignite a bomb. Like Michael Hunt, Mel was a fan of CSI. They always found the stuff, right before a commercial break. It didn’t take them long to find the good stuff.
Mel was striking out. At least he was until he moved aside a chair and saw something that looked out of place. The agent was a rookie and didn’t know what to make of this.
“Hey, Harry,” he said, calling over his supervisor. “You might want to come look at this.”
--------
Sandy was the first one to grow worried. Michael had not called or stopped by after leaving to meet with somebody earlier in the evening. He had told her about the meeting, but not the location or who Michael was going to see. She would have gotten worried anyway, since it was not three hours later, but with the threats, bombs and dead body, it was enough to make her do something she would have never done under any other circumstance.
Sandy got her phone, looked through the address book and finally found the name of the person she never expected to call.
She pushed the send button and waited. On the fourth ring, the person answered. “What?” the man said.
“Squiggy?” she said.
“Uh, yeah, who is this?”
Sandy heard another person in the background. “Who is that?” the woman yelled.
“This is Sandy,” she said. “Can you talk?”
“Sandy? Yeah, we was just getting busy. What’s up?”
“Who’s Sandy?” the other person hollered.
“It’s Mikey’s chick,” he said.
“Why’s she calling you?”
Sandy was already regretting this.
“If you’d shut your trap I’d find out.”
“Don’t tell me to shut my trap!”
Sandy heard some thud and then heard Squiggy grunt.
“Are you okay?” she said.
“Yeah, Big Uns just hit me over the head with my dadgummed boot.”
"What's Big Uns?"
"You know...Big Uns! The chick I been..."
“I hate to call you,” Sandy said, which was the definite truth. “But I’m worried about Michael.”
“He ain’t here!” Squiggy said. “It’s just me and Big Uns. Mikey don’t go for the weird stuff.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Where’s he at?”
“If I knew that, I’d go find him. Have you seen him?”
Squiggy thought about it for a few seconds. “Yeah, about six foot, got a little belly and not much hair on his head?”
“I know what he looks like,” Sandy said.
“Yeah, I reckon you do…in more ways that I ever hope to see.”
Sandy didn’t have a clue what Squiggy was talking about. She decided that was a topic that could fade away. “Have you seen or heard from him in the last hour?”
“Naw, me and Big Uns, we been kinda getting after it…until she hit me in the head with the dadgummed boot. Crap, I think I gotta knot!”
“You deserve it!” the woman hollered in the background.
“I’ll hit you with a boot and…say, you eating blueberry wafflers?”
“Yeah, but you can’t have none.”
“Squiggy!” Sandy said.
“Oh yeah, sorry. Boy, them wafflers sure smell good! Got some syrup dripping and..what was we talking about?”
“Michael.”
“Oh yeah. I gets confused at times. Where’d you say he was?”
Sandy hung up and grabbed her car keys.
--------
Jimmy Don Anson was also growing a little worried. He had not seen his brother’s truck come back up the driveway since Bubba left earlier. His brother could take care of himself against most people. The people they were dealing with weren’t most people, though.
He decided to check things out and took off walking through the pasture. But not in the direction of his brother’s house.
---------
Michael wasn’t aware that he had fallen asleep. He felt somebody shaking him and opened his eyes. The pain was bad, growing worse every second. He shook his head and tried to clear the cobwebs.
There were two men standing above him, guns propped up on their shoulders. They both had thick beards, camo clothing, hunting boots and hats that were tilted off to the sides of their heads.
Michael stared at the guns and the men. They were both young, barely in their twenties. Both of them had the look so many young men shared, that they would rather fight than do anything else other than hunt. Michael didn’t care anymore. They weren’t going to take him out without a fight.
Only inches away from him lay the body of Bubba Anson. His eyes wide open with a large hole centered just above his eyes. His prone body still lay on the steps and was what tripped him.
He was still screaming, but finally stopped. It wasn’t because of the pain shooting up Michael’s arm or from whatever injury had happened to his face.
It was from seeing this man’s body before him, the person Michael had come to the lake to see and try to help. Michael used his good hand to scoot farther away. There was a big rock formation to his right and he moved up against it.
The realization suddenly hit him that he might be in danger, also. Michael didn’t know much about guns, unlike ninety percent of the county’s population, but could tell from the size of the wound and the accuracy that whoever did this had a big gun and knew how to use it. He grabbed for the cell phone attached to his belt. Michael opened it with his good hand and tried to make a call. Nothing was happening. He started worrying that the phone had been damaged in the fall, before noticing there were no bars.
No signal. Michael sighed and wondered what to do. The pain was getting worse, now joined by something on his left knee. He tried to stand and figured out that was a no go. His left leg would not offer the needed support so Michael sat back down against the sloped rock.
This wasn’t a popular time to camp and he saw no lamps lit or fires burning at the camp sites on this side of the lake or the other. He thought for a second that he saw lights across the lake, but if there were any, they quickly disappeared.
There was no way to make it back up the steps. He regretted not telling anybody where he was going, not a smart move. There probably wasn’t anybody around for several miles, back to the few houses on the side of the road heading into the lake.
“Help!” he hollered, quickly deciding that was a waste of time and energy. Michael looked back at the corpse and wished the eyes would stop staring at him. Lifeless eyes that showed no horror or anything. Michael touched his left knee and was not surprised to find out it was already swelling, easily twice the size of the other knee. He had hurt this knee years ago playing softball in a recreational league in Tulsa. He tripped rounding second base and wound up with torn ligaments and a face full of dirt. The second baseman laughed while applying the tag to end the inning. Michael saw nothing humorous about that, or this. He knew this was bad and getting worse.
--------
One of the agents from the OSBI was looking through the debris left over from the fire at what used to be the Langford Review. Most everything was destroyed, from the desks, the computers, printer, chairs and everything.
This was not a plum assignment as far as Mel Hudlow was concerned. His instructions were to find anything that looked like it might either come from a bomb or ignite a bomb. Like Michael Hunt, Mel was a fan of CSI. They always found the stuff, right before a commercial break. It didn’t take them long to find the good stuff.
Mel was striking out. At least he was until he moved aside a chair and saw something that looked out of place. The agent was a rookie and didn’t know what to make of this.
“Hey, Harry,” he said, calling over his supervisor. “You might want to come look at this.”
--------
Sandy was the first one to grow worried. Michael had not called or stopped by after leaving to meet with somebody earlier in the evening. He had told her about the meeting, but not the location or who Michael was going to see. She would have gotten worried anyway, since it was not three hours later, but with the threats, bombs and dead body, it was enough to make her do something she would have never done under any other circumstance.
Sandy got her phone, looked through the address book and finally found the name of the person she never expected to call.
She pushed the send button and waited. On the fourth ring, the person answered. “What?” the man said.
“Squiggy?” she said.
“Uh, yeah, who is this?”
Sandy heard another person in the background. “Who is that?” the woman yelled.
“This is Sandy,” she said. “Can you talk?”
“Sandy? Yeah, we was just getting busy. What’s up?”
“Who’s Sandy?” the other person hollered.
“It’s Mikey’s chick,” he said.
“Why’s she calling you?”
Sandy was already regretting this.
“If you’d shut your trap I’d find out.”
“Don’t tell me to shut my trap!”
Sandy heard some thud and then heard Squiggy grunt.
“Are you okay?” she said.
“Yeah, Big Uns just hit me over the head with my dadgummed boot.”
"What's Big Uns?"
"You know...Big Uns! The chick I been..."
“I hate to call you,” Sandy said, which was the definite truth. “But I’m worried about Michael.”
“He ain’t here!” Squiggy said. “It’s just me and Big Uns. Mikey don’t go for the weird stuff.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Where’s he at?”
“If I knew that, I’d go find him. Have you seen him?”
Squiggy thought about it for a few seconds. “Yeah, about six foot, got a little belly and not much hair on his head?”
“I know what he looks like,” Sandy said.
“Yeah, I reckon you do…in more ways that I ever hope to see.”
Sandy didn’t have a clue what Squiggy was talking about. She decided that was a topic that could fade away. “Have you seen or heard from him in the last hour?”
“Naw, me and Big Uns, we been kinda getting after it…until she hit me in the head with the dadgummed boot. Crap, I think I gotta knot!”
“You deserve it!” the woman hollered in the background.
“I’ll hit you with a boot and…say, you eating blueberry wafflers?”
“Yeah, but you can’t have none.”
“Squiggy!” Sandy said.
“Oh yeah, sorry. Boy, them wafflers sure smell good! Got some syrup dripping and..what was we talking about?”
“Michael.”
“Oh yeah. I gets confused at times. Where’d you say he was?”
Sandy hung up and grabbed her car keys.
--------
Jimmy Don Anson was also growing a little worried. He had not seen his brother’s truck come back up the driveway since Bubba left earlier. His brother could take care of himself against most people. The people they were dealing with weren’t most people, though.
He decided to check things out and took off walking through the pasture. But not in the direction of his brother’s house.
---------
Michael wasn’t aware that he had fallen asleep. He felt somebody shaking him and opened his eyes. The pain was bad, growing worse every second. He shook his head and tried to clear the cobwebs.
There were two men standing above him, guns propped up on their shoulders. They both had thick beards, camo clothing, hunting boots and hats that were tilted off to the sides of their heads.
Michael stared at the guns and the men. They were both young, barely in their twenties. Both of them had the look so many young men shared, that they would rather fight than do anything else other than hunt. Michael didn’t care anymore. They weren’t going to take him out without a fight.
posted by Craig Hall | 4:14 PM
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